stlwooter

Wow, I cried I laughed so hard. I did a number on myself when I was a kid. Our basement was one of those wet cement floors. Around the washing machine, there was always a puddle. The light over the washer was just hanging from the ceiling by its wire, so you had to hold onto the bulb in order to push the switch. I had an armful of laundry, bare feet, and a desire to not be in that bug infested cave longer than I had to be. I reached up with one hand, circled the bulb with a couple of fingers to steady it, and flicked the switch. My fingers were circling the metal of the bulb that was sticking out, so my arm muscles started to contract at about 60 cycles per second. I found myself with laundry all over the place, holding the bulb in my hand. The bulb was unbroken but no longer in the socket. Don't know how that happened.

IlleDuce

Slightly related story: In Electronics 2 (back in high school), we had just learned the mechanics of what shall only be known as "the shocker circuit". We willingly induced 200+ volts for several weeks . . . until some hapless moron donted a 1,000v (or watt? I can't remember . . ) power supply to the Tech department. So, logically the first thing to do was to hook this puppy up to the infamous shocker circuit. We stepped it down to 1 mA, but I don't quite remember the fnal numbers voltagewise . . . Anyway, one brave soul decided that he would contact the leads of this circuit with his braces. Within 2 seconds, he shot back into the wall and was laying in a rapidly-gathering puddle of his own urine . . . he didn't regain conciousness for almost half a nail-biting, shamlessly-long hour.

dontwantaname

We've all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think anyone can top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."

"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"

"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you a second." So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly.

Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are
not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen
floor butt naked in front of a group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics.

Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter......and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to
the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about
my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was. "What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"

Why is it that only the women laugh at this? If they only knew!

WE LURV YOU TOO! Dork!!!
No greater love is lost than that not shared.

mudhen1960

Newsflash: Dogs are retarded. Mine used to eat his own vomit, and wag his tail while he did it.

Unfortunately, my dogs are smart enough to convince my husband that they NEED a whole bag of beef jerky instead of the Beggin Strips crap.
Dogs are just like people: if you only feed a baby Top Ramen and Arbys, they will be happy with Top Ramen and Arbys. However, once they taste a filet mignon with a demi sauce and roasted new potatoes with herbed sea salt, Top Ramen isn't the same, baby!
Look at me (well, you can't "look" at me, it's figurative)- I used to be a skinny college kid who lived on Big Macs and Icehouse. Then I met my husband, who was at one time a gourmet chef, and loves to cook huge, elaborate meals. Needless to say, my pant size has expanded as has my knowledge of how to prepare food fit for human consumption.
Fortunately, now I know how to cook. Unfortunately, I also know how to eat, and I am sorry, but a Big Mac combo and an Icehouse 22 are not food anymore. They are Beggin Strips...

pooflady

Unfortunately, my dogs are smart enough to convince my husband that they NEED a whole bag of beef jerky instead of the Beggin Strips crap.
Dogs are just like people: if you only feed a baby Top Ramen and Arbys, they will be happy with Top Ramen and Arbys. However, once they taste a filet mignon with a demi sauce and roasted new potatoes with herbed sea salt, Top Ramen isn't the same, baby!
Look at me (well, you can't "look" at me, it's figurative)- I used to be a skinny college kid who lived on Big Macs and Icehouse. Then I met my husband, who was at one time a gourmet chef, and loves to cook huge, elaborate meals. Needless to say, my pant size has expanded as has my knowledge of how to prepare food fit for human consumption.
Fortunately, now I know how to cook. Unfortunately, I also know how to eat, and I am sorry, but a Big Mac combo and an Icehouse 22 are not food anymore. They are Beggin Strips...

jqubed

mudhen1960 wrote:Unfortunately, my dogs are smart enough to convince my husband that they NEED a whole bag of beef jerky instead of the Beggin Strips crap.
Dogs are just like people: if you only feed a baby Top Ramen and Arbys, they will be happy with Top Ramen and Arbys. However, once they taste a filet mignon with a demi sauce and roasted new potatoes with herbed sea salt, Top Ramen isn't the same, baby!
Look at me (well, you can't "look" at me, it's figurative)- I used to be a skinny college kid who lived on Big Macs and Icehouse. Then I met my husband, who was at one time a gourmet chef, and loves to cook huge, elaborate meals. Needless to say, my pant size has expanded as has my knowledge of how to prepare food fit for human consumption.
Fortunately, now I know how to cook. Unfortunately, I also know how to eat, and I am sorry, but a Big Mac combo and an Icehouse 22 are not food anymore. They are Beggin Strips...

dontwantaname

A friend of mine is fond of saying that my last words on this Earth will be something akin to, "hey y'all, hold my beer and watch this!"

Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a Time/Life movie in the near future. Here goes...

Last weekend I spied something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. Keep in mind that my "fancy" is rather easily tickled.

I bought something really cool for myself. There was no special occasion.

What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety.

The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing way-out too cool!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions, I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love to fire for effect.

I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!! Yipeeeeee!!! I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to friends and family what that burn spot is on the face of my microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc., etc.

There I sat in my recliner, my cat , Sparky, looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Sparky for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. He is such a sweet little cat, after all.

But, if I was going to use this thing to protect myself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time...

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and t-shirt with my glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another.

The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.

All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than ¾-inches in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "no friggin' way!"

Friggin' way - trust me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have already gotten a pretty good mental picture of what followed.

I'm sitting there alone, Sparky looking on with his head cocked to one side as if to say, "don't do it buddy", and I'm reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. Sounded like rational thinking under the circumstances. Wouldn't you agree?

I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it.

Note - You know, a bad decision is like hindsight - always 20/20. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya just hate that?

I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again.

I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. Sparky was standing over me making meow sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "do it again, do it again!"

Note- If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, here's one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you will dislodge one of the prongs that are ¼" deep in your thigh, just like "yours truly".

Where was I? Oh yeah... Son-of-a-Bitch that hurt!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My glasses were on the dining room table. How did they get there? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two.

By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round, rather a nice size, kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself. I sure do miss 'em. Sure would like to get 'em back

Hi wandering woot off people. If you want a laugh read the first few pages of this thread!

WE LURV YOU TOO! Dork!!!
No greater love is lost than that not shared.

TheBass

haha i have a similar experience with electricity.. and being stupid, no, not as stupid as to put a tazer on my bare leg though.

I was taking the film out of one of those disposable cameras, I thought it would be harmless, it was a stupid little camera. I took the batteries out, tore it open and got the film. At the time the flash was charged (but I took the batteries out right?) right, well, I didnt really know how the big black capacitor worked at the time, so while holding the camera in my left hand and fiddling with it with my right i touched the wrong thing and sent a pulse through my right arm, across my chest, and down my left hand back into the camera.

I must have been holding it just wrong for it to work out that way.. but yeah, luckily it was just a groovy camera, so i'm not in the darwin awards yet :P

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